Memories
by ruffruffren
Summary: 'Good afternoon, Aoba-san. How are you today' He speaks lovingly to me, a softness laced around his words that made me long for him. Embrace me, hold me, love me. 'I thought you might be getting cold so I have arranged for a treat for you to warm you up.' A treat? For me?


It's cold.

The change in the room is almost indistinguishable from before but when the only thing you have left is to feel, you notice it clearly. It's cold. The sagging flesh on my bones breaks out into goose pimples as I shudder, taking in a shaky breath through my dried lips. I wonder if my breath still comes out in swirling wisps of mist? Is it that cold? I don't know. The veil of darkness that forever blackens my vision will never be lifted for me to tell. I remember when I was a child, I would run around pretending I was dragon breathing fire, carefree and full of life. Where are those days now? How do I get back to them?

This is my life now, I remind myself.

I remember with sudden clarity to close my mouth and moisten it, the dryness burning my throat from where I forgot to close it sooner. My jaw is sore from being slack and the joints creak noisily in the cold silence of the room. It startles me, the sudden sound, and I jump, shifting my torso over as if I could escape that which threatened me. If I had the strength to I may have laughed at myself for the foolishness of such behaviour, but my mind and body were to weak for even that. I was far from being able to utter a single sound let alone laughter. I wonder now how it felt to laugh. What a waste of effort it must have been to do.

I hear the familiar tap, tap, tap of mechanical footsteps on the hard floor. Faint at first, louder now, coming closer. Once, when I could still use my brain for things beyond basic activity, I counted the number of footsteps it took to reach my cell. Sixty six steps. No more, no less.

On the sixty-sixth step he would stop, pausing briefly to admire my form through the bars. The gentle change in his breathing tells me this. He sighs almost whimsically as he looks at the beauty he has created. The human form, altered to perfection, his own design. I am carved by his fingers. He is my God and I am his disciple.

'Aoba-san,' He says, his voice drowned out slightly by the groaning of the cell door. It clanked shut behind him and he took the further ten steps required to reach the bedside where I lay waiting, eagerly awaiting his arrival. Now he was here my body erupted with adrenaline; my mouth flushed with moisture, my heart thundered in my chest and my breathing became rapid and uneven. He was here to see me. How long have I waited this time? It does not matter. The moments up until now blur together and become meaningless. Only the present matters in a world with no future.

'Good afternoon, Aoba-san. How are you today?' He speaks lovingly to me, a softness laced around his words that made me long for him. Embrace me, hold me, love me. 'I thought you might be getting cold so I have arranged for a treat for you to warm you up.'

A treat? For me?

The remnants of my limbs pull and tug at their bonds, the chains screeching, metal upon metal as the clasps bind me to the bars of the headboard. Such an awful sound but it's the only way I an ensure I have his attention. It's my own little way of calling out to him, look at me.

'You are very lively today!' Clear's voice is close now and I know he must be beside me. He moves about the cell and I listen as the sparse furniture is rearranged. The gentle clack of a tray on the smooth surface of the side table followed by a scent. That is... apples?

'It is good to see Aoba-san moving around so much.' He continues with the one-way conversation as I twist my body around, hungry for his attention. The moment I have been waiting for finally arrives and I feel the mattress sink beneath his weight, the springs creaking underneath him. To my surprise he unbuckles my thighs from the bed, and then my arms, his broad, bare hands reaching under me to carefully prop me up against the wall.

It's cold.

'Here,' Clear's weight shifts again and I hear the sigh of fabric before I feel it. It wraps itself over the back of my shoulders, shielding my naked bones from the harshness of the brick wall. I lean back against the softness, enjoying the sensation of fleece against my tired body.

'Is that better now? Good. Are you thirsty, Aoba-san?'

I open and close my mouth, feigning the motions of speech. He chuckles. My heart lurches with joy at the sound. I want to hear it again. 'It's Autumn now, Aoba-san. Soon it will be Christmas!' I hear the brush of his clothing and imagine he is gesturing in delight with his arms. I want to smile at him but I am uncertain if my lips manage it.

'As it is Autumn time I thought I would treat you with some cider. I warmed it up to the perfect temperature. Please, enjoy!' He reaches over, away from me again, and I can hear the sound of china chinking together. The scent of apples becomes stronger, entwining around my senses and inviting me in. The smell brings back fond memories of a time now out of reach.

Granny. I can't...recall her face any more. It isn't important. I move on. The memory was of us sitting on the porch together, sipping warm apple cider and watching the world go by. It was shortly after my parents left on another trip, promising to be home in time for Christmas. They never did come home. I wonder if they know what became of me? Do they remember my face? Or am I just a half-forgotten memory?

'Carefully now, Aoba-san. It is a little hot and you may burn yourself. I will feed it to you!' Clear says cheerfully. 'Open wide, now.'

Not knowing what to expect I simply obey. My lips open. I wait. I listen to him blowing gently, probably cooling the liquid for me, and then he pours a tiny amount into my mouth. I hold it there, unsure what to do. It tastes pleasant.

'Swallow it now, Aoba-san.' It was too late. Some of the liquid has already spilled from my lips, trailing down my chin and dripping onto my chest. I forgot how to drink it then. Closing my mouth I find the way forward, forcing the lukewarm fluid down my throat. 'Very good.' He tells me. 'Does it taste nice? I hope so.'

He hand feeds me more and eventually I learn to open and close my mouth without prompt. It must take awhile for the cider has grown cold. I still drink it down like before, enjoying the feel of something other than water in my belly.

'There we go, all gone. Well done, Aoba-san.' He sets the cup back down and settles against the wall beside me. I can feel his artificial heat seeping through to my bones. It's pleasant and my body naturally turns into it, pressing against him.

I'm tired.

Exhausted from our interaction I lay my head upon his shoulder.

After awhile I think I am dreaming. The world around me is suddenly filled with brilliant colour, and I am surrounded by familiar faces. This is a dream. It can only be a dream.

Koujaku is there, to my right. He's smoking but I can't smell the tobacco. On my left is Granny, her wrinkled face stretched into a smile though I cannot make out the rest of her features. And there, curled up on my lap, is Ren. His fur should be soft beneath my fingers but I cannot feel it.

A dream, then.

I look outside the window and see the trees as they shed their leaves, the stark nakedness of the branches left behind startling me. Shadows of their former selves, just like me. I had shed the burden of excess some time ago now, too. The only difference was mine did not return with the change of season. I would remain this way until the day I died, my only sanctuary within the sweetness of my dreams. I wonder... did the trees dream of summer, too?

I did not notice before, yet now I have I cannot ignore it. There, beneath the barren tree. Clear, he is there. Playing with the fallen leaves, he throws them up into the air, twirling beneath them as they begin to fall, a rain of sanguine leaves. He is so playful in his innocence that as I watch him I cannot help but smile. For there is the man I fell in love with, the purity of his face the only one I remember clearly. How beautiful he is.

'Aoba-san.'

I hear my name and all too soon the fabrication of reality slips through my fingers and I awake to the darkness once more. There is a hand upon my cheek, a thumb rubbing softly.

'Don't cry, Aoba-san.'


End file.
